


Life after death

by Barcardivodka



Category: Our Boys - Jonathan Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barcardivodka/pseuds/Barcardivodka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe Morgan survived the Hyde Park bombing. It was the living after it that proved more challenging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life after death

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks, as always, to my beta's. Any errors or mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> I saw the play, with Laurence Fox in the role of Joe Morgan, in December 2012 (and January and February!) and after the heart-wrenching final scene, I needed to explore what happened to Joe.
> 
> This story therefore contains spoilers for the play.

Joe Morgan held his body so rigid that his muscles were starting to scream in protest; fists clenched the pillow under his head as he lay curled on his side.  Yet his body still failed to hold still, flinching as he heard another firework whoosh its way through the sky to die in a spectacular display of spiralling colour roaring its end with a vibrating explosion.

 He squeezed his eyes tightly shut; only to open them again almost immediately as images of that fateful day in Hyde Park started to form and take shape behind his eyelids. He stared wide eyed at the lilac wallpaper of the bedroom wall. He forced his mind to see shapes in the leaf-design pattern as he listened to Katie going through her evening ritual in the bathroom, wishing like hell she was already beside him, her supple body and gentle touch easing his torment.

 He bit back a sob of fright as another firework boomed. Welcome to the fucking 90s he thought to himself, fervently wishing that the celebration of the three minute old decade would fade to silence and allow him peace.

 All in all the 80s had been pretty fucking shit. It had started out all right, as six year veteran of the 1st Battalion Blues and Royals, plenty of women had fallen for his West Country charm and the fact that he cut a pretty dashing figure in his uniform might have helped a bit. He’d had the perfect life for a while, routine, discipline, friends, his beloved horse Chloe, booze and birds.

 Then that ill-fated day came. He used to love all the pomp and ceremony, everything polished and shining, boots, sword, chest plate, helmet, horse. He’d ridden the changing of the guards’ dozens of times but would always have a flutter of nervous excitement, Gerry, the bastard, would take the piss as always.

 One minute they were riding along, the clapping of the crowd and the clop of hooves ringing in their ears and the next…carnage. The smell of blood and hot metal clogged the air and there was a deafening silence, just of a moment. Or it seemed like it was just for a moment before sound suddenly came rushing back, filling his ears with cries and screams and the shrieking of dying, terrified horses, except for Gerry and Ulysses and Chloe who lay silent. The horses, thankfully, killed outright, but Gerry…

 “Joe, turnover, sweetheart,” the sweet, gentle voice of Katie softly commanded, as a tender hand squeezed his shoulder.

 He did as she asked. Painfully unfurling his legs, his body trembling as muscles loosened enough for him to move. As he turned to face Katie, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders in a strong, loving embrace, cradling him to her breast as she carded a hand through his hair. The dam broke, and he sobbed quietly against her.

The frustration and fear brought on by the continuous clamour of the innocuous fireworks and the dark horrific memories they evoked started to ease as he clung to her.  She rocked him slowly, one hand rubbing his back, as the other continued its soothing movement through his hair. No false platitudes fell from her lips, no empty promises made, that all would be well, that he had nothing to fear, she comforted him in silence, giving him the strength he needed in a touch full of love.

 He’d spent over two and half years in hospital. First being put back together after the bombing, then as he fought some fucked up blood infection that had the doctors baffled. After all the time they spent fixing him up, they had to start hacking bits off him to try and stop the infection. They’d figured it out in the end of course; only cost him his middle finger on his left hand and the tops of all four fingers on his right.

 The army had kicked him out after that. They called it a medical discharge. Joe knew it wasn’t his crippled hands that had led to his exile from everything he had known since he was eighteen. No, it was that psycho-quack that the Colonel had made him go to, to address Joe’s ‘negative attitude problem’.The quack diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder, whatever the fuck that was. Not that it made any difference; he was still out of the army.

 The Colonel had fought to keep him in the regiment, and when that failed, he’d tried to offer Joe help. Joe had been so despondent he’d just walked away. He’d fail to keep the appointments set up for him with a civvy street shrink and moved from one doss house to another as he sunk into a despair so deep, he never thought he’d find his way back to the light of normality.

 Alcohol dulled the misery, but he was a violent drunk. The anger that the depression numbed was given free reign when he drank to excess. A violent drunken brawl landed him in jail for a six month stretch and strangely his life had taken a turn for the better.

 A loud boom jerked Joe violently from his musings as Katie’s arms wrapped round him in a tight hug.

 “Just one of those new fireworks, Joe,” she soothed. She broke the hug and went back to running her fingers through his hair, teasing it into short spikes, before smoothing it back down again. “Be over soon.”

 Joe hung onto Katie as he always did when the brutal past managed to breach his hard built defences. Katie had stood by him through everything, the good and the very bad.

He had first met her not long after his release from prison. His former Colonel had managed to track him down when he’d been inside. The Colonel would write to Joe every week, and visited when duties allowed. He was Joe’s only link to the outside world; his drinking had destroyed more than one friendship.

 On his release the Colonel met him at the prison gates and drove him from the polluted, cluttered streets of London to the small town of Dulverton in Somerset. The town was near the border with Devon and not far from Joe’s home town of Wells. More importantly though, Dulverton stood on the edge of the Exmoor National Park, two hundred and sixty-seven square miles of coastline, moorland and ancient woodland and home to the semi-wild Exmoor ponies.

 Joe was never quite sure how the Colonel had done it, but in Dulverton he had found Joe a job as a part-time Field Assistant with the Exmoor National Park Authority. His main duties the care and well-being of the indigenous ponies, the Colonel had also found him a weekend job as a groom at a local riding stables. The Colonel had handed Joe the keys to a small bedsit, which with his combined salary he could easily offered, the first month’s rent had already been paid.

 Joe had been astounded at the Colonel’s generosity and kindness and stammered out a flustered thank you. _“You may not be part of the army now, Joe. But you’ll always be one of my lads. That will never change.”_ The Colonel’s words had given Joe a much need sense of belonging. With a firm handshake, the Colonel had made Joe promise to write regularly and handed him a small business card. _“This one can help you.”_ It held the name of a psychologist based in Bristol.

 Joe had spoken many times to the prison shrink, but never about what really troubled him. He found it impossible to talk to someone who had no idea what it was like to see your mates dead or dying around you. To hold your best friend, who had six-inch nails sticking out from his flesh; his legs sheared off and have him die in your arms and to feel so guilty that you had managed to survive and hadn’t managed to save him. That the car bonnet that had killed Chloe and smashed his face had saved him from the worse of the nail bombardment.

 And to live with the guilt that he had missed Gerry’s funeral. He knew that there was no way he could have attended. He was still critically ill in hospital, but deep inside he punished himself for not saying goodbye. Standing at Gerry’s graveside had done nothing to lessen the overwhelming grief and guilt and to add to it all, he felt guilty for wanting to mourn the loss of his horse. Chloe, who listened without judgement as he told her things he couldn’t even share with Gerry. Who he would nurse through every ailment sleeping in her stable and she who was the most steady of horses, as long as Joe was on her back, who never missed a step, never flinched from the noise of the crowd or side-stepped away from waving flags.

 His new life had kept him busy, emotionally and physically. Catching, checking and recording the wild ponies was challenging and exhilarating in equal measure. In just four weeks he had also been given more hours and more responsibility at the stables.

 It was late one summer’s evening when he first met Katie. The heat of the day was thankfully starting to wane as the sun headed for the horizon and Joe was only half hour away from home. He was drenched in sweat from the long cycle home and his bike had taken up an irritating squeak which was starting to get on his nerves.

 He’d just made it up Fenton Hill when he’d noticed a vivid yellow Mini a few yards further along. The bonnet was up and some very unladylike swearing was coming from beneath it. Joe had propped his bike up against a speed limit sign post and stepped around to the front of the car.

 “Hello.” The tall, attractive, brunette who was staring at the engine as if telepathy would fix it, turned towards him in surprise at his quiet greeting. He’d given what he hoped was a friendly smile, knowing that his sweat-drenched t-shirt and flushed face wasn’t a very reassuring sight.

 “Oh, good grief,” she’d laughed, a hand flying to her ample chest, making Joe glad that his face was already red and hid his embarrassment at staring at her breasts. “Pudsey just spluttered and died after I got up the hill. I’ve been here ages, wiggling all his wiggable bits,” she’d explained with a smile. “Please say you know something about car engines?”

 Joe returned her smile and nodded. “I know the basics,” he’d replied, ducking under the bonnet and making a quick visual inspection. “Did you call your car Pudsey?” he’d asked.

 “Yes,” she confirmed, “hasn’t yours got a name?”

 “I don’t own one,” he’d replied, “just a push bike,” he’d waved a hand towards the sign post.

 “And you haven’t asked it its name?” she said in mock-horror walking towards his bike. He’d watched as she bent down next to it, cocked her head, stood back up and patted the handle bars.

 “His name is George,” she’d told him, “and my name is Katie,” she’d held out her hand and he’d automatically shaken it, forgetting for a moment about his mutilated fingers. He pulled his hand back in horror and had taken a step backwards.

 “Sorry, I…Joe, I’m Joe,” he stammered out feeling like a complete prat. He used to have a smooth, pleasant charm about him, but ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital it had deserted him.

 Katie had looked at him for moment, he’d met her gaze expecting to see the pity and revulsion that usually showed when people saw his injuries, but it wasn’t there. She’d taken a step closer and smiled. He remembered thinking that she had such a beautiful smile and he’d basked in it.

 “If you can get Pudsey started, there’s a pint in it for you.”

 Her casual acceptance wrong-footed him and it took him a moment to comprehend her words.

 “Oh, right, yeah, of course,” he’d brushed a hand across the back of his head as he turned his attention back to the car.

 He had got it started; it had just been a loose connection to the battery. Katie had kept her promise and they had met up later that evening for a drink and it was the start of a relationship that had gone from strength to strength, even though it had its share of dark days.

 With Katie in his life he had started to live again instead of just existing and her quiet strength had fortified his. But he’d lived in fear of hurting Katie, that he would strike out during his nightmares, or when he wasn’t able to control his frustration and anger and had to leave the house.

 Joe had made an appointment with the psychiatrist the Colonel had recommended and had prayed with all his might that they would be able to help him. The shrink had turned out to be a fifty-year old gregarious Australian, who was a veteran of the Vietnam War and had understood and lived through the horrors of watching your friends die a violent death. With trepidation and relief, Joe had found himself able to talk about that fateful day that had changed his life forever, and of his feelings of guilt and his overwhelming grief.

 He still saw Dr Robinson from time to time when something would set off a flashback. After tonight’s episode Joe knew a visit would soon be required.

 He snuggled closer to Katie, as she continued playing with his hair. The fireworks had faded and Joe was able to get his body to relax. He placed his large hand on her stomach and smiled when Katie abandoned his hair and placed her hand over his. While the 80s had been dominated by horror, the 90s would be full of new life and joy.


End file.
